


Grip Me in Your Hands

by Tiofrean



Series: The Lost Winter [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Between S02 and S03, Cold Weather, Developing Relationship, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rick is struggling, Seeking Warmth, Smut, the lost winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 13:18:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15607134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiofrean/pseuds/Tiofrean
Summary: The winter was cold, and they were all hungry. Feeling out of luck, realizing how he was failing as the leader, Rick went to the woods to calm his troubled mind.It's a good thing that Daryl followed him.





	Grip Me in Your Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SheriffsRevolver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheriffsRevolver/gifts).
  * Inspired by [(Eye) Contact](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15155009) by [SheriffsRevolver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheriffsRevolver/pseuds/SheriffsRevolver). 



> Hi guys! :) 
> 
> I was so inspired by the newest chapter of SheriffsRevolver's fic "(Eye) Contact" that I wrote a whole damn fic. You should go and get into Sheriff's fic, because it's AWESOME. 
> 
> This fic was betaed by MermaidSheenaz, so all my love goes to her <3 
> 
> In this fic you'll find a very struggling Rick during the hiatus between seasons 2 and 3, which I will forever call The Lost Winter. So much stuff must have happened there and I will be forever mourning the fact that we didn't get them on screen. What can I do, then? Why, let's write a fic about it! 
> 
> Enjoy! <3

It was cold… so _fucking_ cold, Rick couldn’t stop his hands from shaking, even if he jammed them under his armpits. His jacket was too thin to keep the freezing air at bay, but Rick didn’t complain. He had collected a few blankets on the way here, but he had given them all out to his people. Carl had been wrapped in the fluffiest of them all, a thick, blue monstrosity that made him look like a cookie monster. Lori had gotten the pink one, big enough to wrap her completely from the tip of her nose to the soles of her feet. He had even gave one to Hershel’s daughters - the sisters sharing it between them.

Seeing his people at least keeping warm, Rick took a deep breath and walked out of the little house they had holed themselves in for the time being. He needed to take a moment, needed a short walk in the woods around them, and the freshly fallen snow looked enticing enough to try it, even if it was already past sunset. It wasn’t too dark around yet, however, so Rick zipped his jacket up and wandered out, nodding to Daryl who had been keeping watch outside, probably freezing his ass off.  
“Where to?” The hunter asked him, adjusting the crossbow on his shoulder.  
“I won’t be far,” Rick said in reply, shrugging, walking on. Daryl’s affirmative grunt followed him to the line of the forest.

The snow was everywhere, and Rick hated that he still found it beautiful, even if it was life-threatening for them by now. It shortened their supply of wild animals, it made everything irritatingly wet, and it made traveling so much harder… But despite that, Rick couldn’t help but smile sadly seeing it, remembering the good times that would never come again. He thought about Carl’s first Christmas, about how he and Shane had had more fun than his kid, throwing snowballs at each other and slipping on ice in front of Rick’s brand new house. It had smelled of cinnamon, had been almost stifling warm and filled with laughter.

The house they were currently barricaded in was too cold to sleep in it without at least two blankets piled up on top of one another. It smelled of death and walker guts, not freshly baked rolls and turkey. His friend wasn’t there, having been dead after Rick had pushed a blade through his heart. Instead, it was filled with desperate gazes of his group - _Rick’s group._ He had claimed those people as his own, telling them to suck it up, shut their mouths and follow him, or _fuck off._ They had stayed. They had trusted him and now they were here, bundled up without hope for dinner or even a small breakfast tomorrow, hungry and exhausted. Still _sticking to him_ despite every way he had failed them as their leader.

Dictatorship or not, Rick still had a heart. And he still cared for his family.

Gritting his teeth, feeling them chatter against the cold wind blowing through the trees around him, Rick shook his head. He stopped under a tall pine, leaning against it and bowing forward, propping his hands on his knees and just breathing. The snow was so beautiful, so soft and pure… Rick couldn’t help the way his mind painted it dirty-red with walker blood. He closed his eyes, inhaling and counting to ten. The forest was quiet around him, the wind whistling through bare branches and the still green needles of those majestic pines.

The walker guts were still in his mind’s eye. He would have thrown up if there had been anything in his stomach.

“Rick?” A familiar gruffy voice asked, and Rick jerked his head up, spotting Daryl. The hunter was standing a few yards from him, the crossbow in his hand, staring at him with narrowed eyes. There was no anger in them, they were just curious - Rick knew. He had learned a lot about his second-in-command by now - how his eyes narrowed very distinctively in anger or amusement, and the way his mouth had quirked when they had been joking about something… in the early days. Now though, Daryl’s expression was solemn more often than not, some kind of resigned sadness etched deep on his features every time they failed to find a good place to spend the night in. It always lasted only for as long as it took new trouble to arise, and then, Daryl was up and about again, biting his lip thoughtfully and thinking about a solution.

Just like he was doing now…

“Ya alright?” Daryl asked, stepping closer now that he had been noticed. They had all learned not to sneak up on each other, not wanting to end up dead. _There were no warning shots in the apocalypse, after all._ Rick gritted his teeth again and shook his head slightly - whether in negative or because he just didn’t know the answer, Rick wasn’t sure. He left it to the hunter to interpret.

A few seconds, and Daryl was standing next to him, shifting as he looked around, making sure they were safe. Daryl _always_ made sure that they were safe. Rick felt a bit bad for not doing it as often as Daryl did, for not paying attention to as many details as his friend did. Maybe if he had, they wouldn’t have been in this position now? Two pairs of keen eyes had to be better than one, right?

But try as he might, Rick was no hunter - a profession that had brought Daryl to the top position in this walker-infested world. He couldn’t track for shit, didn’t shoot anything but guns, and would have died of hunger five times by now had it not been for Daryl keeping them all alive. Maybe they should have made _Daryl_ the leader? Rick could just keep watch, trying not to fall asleep on his feet… maybe serve as an occasional walker bait, going by the amount of times Daryl had to save his ass in the last month or so.

_Hell, by now he was probably way too thin to even be a good bait…_

The last thought brought a small laugh to his lips, and Rick let it flow, listening to its echo bouncing off of the trees, hollow and sad in the way it sounded. He felt his nose getting runny again - something caused by cold air and not any kind of infection, hopefully - and sniffled, trying to clear it. He rubbed at his eyes, hoping they wouldn’t get all wet, then straightened up and glanced at Daryl.

His friend was standing a step away from him, his steady gaze focused on Rick, his face the picture of concern. Rick was aware - somewhere at the back of his mind - that he must have looked like a madman, laughing one moment, almost crying the next.  
“Ya should get back,” Daryl gruffed out finally, eyeing him. “Ya’ll get cold.”

_They were all fucking cold._

Rick wanted to laugh again. It was bubbling somewhere inside him - a manic, nervous kind of laughter, incredulous in its intensity. He didn’t even try to fight it, but despite his willingness to lose the last shred of his dignity, his throat closed up on its own. What came out instead was a choked-off sob that sounded so helpless, Rick’s nerves finally gave. His eyes misted over, and he brought his hands up to cover them, as if he could somehow stop his tears from falling. He tried to control his breathing, not let it get all wild and uneven, but before he managed to get a hold on what breathing _was,_ he was already halfway to hyperventilating.

“Rick.” It was quiet, calm, _whispered right into his ear._ Rick jerked in place, hands shooting forward and gripping Daryl blindly, holding on as if letting go meant falling into an endless pit. The hunter didn’t move away like he should, like he _would_ with anyone else. Instead, Daryl pressed himself to Rick, closing the distance between them and shielding him from the biting wind. There was an arm wrapping itself around Rick’s shoulders, keeping him securely against Daryl’s chest, a constant shushing noise lulling his mind into calmness.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Rick stuttered out, cringing when even the words failed him, but Daryl shook his head hard enough for him to feel it.  
“‘S okay…” Daryl murmured, “let it out.”

There was a hand sneaking into Rick’s hair - a warm, broad palm that tugged his head forward, prompting him to drop his forehead to Daryl’s shoulder. But the shoulder was covered in a thick leather jacket, and it had to be cold by now. Rick didn’t want _cold_ anymore - he was too close to freezing as it was. He turned his head to the side, pushing his face into Daryl’s neck instead. His friend didn’t notice the shift, or he didn’t care, because he kept murmuring soothingly to him, the fingers threading through Rick’s hair brushing it slowly, untangling the wild curls, then messing them up again.

Rick sighed, rubbing his nose against Daryl’s neck, seeking warmth of the fragrant skin that smelled of home and safety. He would have never thought that the scent of leather and earth could smell so good, so… _peaceful._ His hands flexed on Daryl’s sides, the leather crunching in his hands, and Daryl shifted, arms leaving Rick for a moment.

He wanted to protest, wanted to pull the hunter back when he moved away slightly, but Daryl shushed him again.  
“Wait,” Daryl said, then brought his hands to the front of his jacket. He unzipped it and opened it wide, then pried Rick’s fingers away from the leather, only to bring them to his chest.

Feeling the softness of Daryl’s flannel shirt, dragging his fingertips over it, Rick took a deep breath, trying to calm down his wild heart.  
“Come on,” Daryl prompted, tugging him closer, and finally, hesitatingly, Rick let his arms sneak around Daryl’s middle, going all the way behind Daryl’s back and fisting in the material, bunching it up. His nose found that hot patch of skin just behind Daryl’s ear and he pushed against it, closing his eyes. The world fell away for a moment, the snow, the hunger, the never-ending violence and blood… in its place, there was Daryl, the heat of his body and the steadiness of his hands when they landed on Rick’s hips, keeping him close.

They shouldn’t be doing it probably - two grown men hugging like scared kids, desperate to keep warm in the middle of the worst winter yet. But Rick needed it, he needed the safe embrace like he needed the air to breathe… _maybe more._ Feeling suddenly hungry for more, the emptiness gnawing at him from the inside and threatening to swallow him whole, Rick pressed himself even closer. He moved his head a bit, just enough to place his frosty lips on Daryl’s skin in a meek attempt to warm them up. It worked surprisingly fast, the sensation spreading through him with tingling electricity, shooting all the way down his spine. Mindlessly, Rick let his tongue travel over the same patch, gasping softly when he tasted salt.

Daryl tensed in his arms then, a shiver running through him, and Rick felt an answering shudder raking his own body. He tightened his arms and did it again, his tongue traveling down, until he could dip it in the little hollow at the base of Daryl’s neck. A gruffy moan that escaped Daryl at that, lit fire somewhere inside Rick’s guts. He groaned, too, an answering sound that clawed its way out without his say-so, but Rick was too distracted to care.

He nuzzled his face into Daryl’s shoulder, kissing every available patch of skin, mind only capable of focusing on how unbelievably _good_ it felt. His hips had picked up a small rutting motion, the slow grinding going unnoticed until Daryl’s own body bucked against him, crashing the illusion.

Rick pulled back, gasping, wide eyes staring at Daryl, while he tried to process what had just happened. Rick was hard, his cock straining inside his trousers, but that wasn’t the biggest surprise - he had known he had a soft spot for the hunter for some time now. With his marriage practically nonexistent, with Lori isolating herself from him, still ridden by grief after he had killed Shane… it was only natural that Rick’s desperate heart would turn to the only person he could trust completely. It didn’t shock Rick, not by far… What _did_ shock him, however, was the answering hardness in Daryl’s own pants, pushing up against him when their hips aligned on an aborted thrust.

“Rick…” Daryl whispered softly, and before Rick had time to react, Daryl was crowding him against the tree, diving in and claiming Rick’s mouth in a passionate, but delicate kiss. Daryl’s lips were careful, telegraphing desire into Rick’s body with soft touches and gentle pressure, but his tongue was quickly driving Rick insane. The care Daryl put into stroking it along Rick’s, the slow slide that turned him inside-out - it was enough to switch off Rick’s brain and shatter him to pieces if he let it.

_Daryl cared about him so damn much, it was almost painful._

Scared of the swarm of butterflies threatening to eat his stomach, Rick pulled back, gulping in air like a man drowning. He made a feeble attempt at protest, trying to reason with himself why this idea was bad, but he came up empty-handed. Everything screamed at him to dive in and kiss Daryl again, let the fire burning in his hunter swallow him whole and warm him forever.

Seeing his hesitation, Daryl brought one hand to his face, molding it until it fit Rick’s jaw perfectly. One thumb stroked just underneath Rick’s eye, slowly wiping away the moisture that had gathered there.  
“Rick?” There was a thousand questions in this one little word. _Do you want this? Can we do it?_

_Do you trust me?_

Rick let himself think for a moment - _only_ for a moment - then nodded. He wanted Daryl so much it _hurt,_ every fiber of his being attuned to the man he was holding in his arms, and Rick felt like he would crash down and die if Daryl _didn’t_ touch him.

Nodding erratically, feeling strangely splayed open, Rick whispered a small, broken “yes.” It carried with the wind, wrapping them in a soft cocoon that made the whole world fall away. Entranced, Rick watched as Daryl brought his hands to his jeans, unbuckling the belt and opening the fly. He didn’t go for Rick’s cock immediately, not like Rick expected him to do. Instead, Daryl chose to untuck the shirt Rick was wearing, along with the thin tee underneath. He rucked them both up a bit, then placed his rough palm on the delicate skin of Rick’s abdomen.

The touch was electric enough to arch Rick’s spine, and he bowed back, straining against the tree trunk, a small gasp leaving his lungs in a misty cloud that had no right to be as big as it was.

Daryl gruffed out a sound which was half pleasure and half surprise, then kissed him again, a bit more wildly this time. His fingers inched lower and dipped inside Rick’s boxers, wrapping around his hard length and giving it a tight squeeze. Rick’s hips rocked forward on instinct, a needy little move that pushed his cock up into Daryl’s fist. It brought forth memories, half-shadowed snippets of every time he had tried to get close to Lori again, almost begging her for forgiveness after he had killed his best friend. He had tried so hard, even if it had made him feel like a dog pleading for scraps - only to be turned down enough times to give up in the end.

Wincing at the memory, Rick broke the kiss, biting his own lip instead. Daryl’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t push. Instead, he let his forehead drop to Rick’s, pressing their faces close enough to share air between them. Carefully, he took Rick’s cock out, his hand starting up a nice, moderate rhythm. He swirled his thumb over the head a few times, spreading the wetness that gathered there and easing the slide a bit, making Rick’s toes curl in his soaked-through boots.

Swallowing against the whirlwind of emotions that assaulted him, trying to push away images of Lori’s glare, Rick dug his nails into Daryl’s shirt-clad back hard enough to leave marks for later. He could feel his muscles tightening against the urge to thrust forward - a desperate attempt at not looking like a needy dog - but Daryl’s voice reached him before he could give himself a strain.  
“‘S okay,” the hunter whispered, right into Rick’s ear, the warm puff of air making his skin tingle. He moaned distractedly, gritting his teeth.

“Rick,” Daryl went on, his voice raspy and breathless. “Ya need it… C’mon. I gotcha...”

The careful prompting, the _care_ Rick heard in Daryl’s voice, melted something inside Rick. _Daryl understood._ A few gentle moves of Daryl’s fist later, and Rick finally unclenched his muscles, giving up the steel grip of his control. The urge to thrust was overwhelming, and Rick let his body do what it needed, pushing up into Daryl’s fist, moaning softly at the rough fingers that slid along his length. It fried Rick’s brain, how Daryl’s hand was so warm, wrapped around him so securely and tenderly.

_Daryl understood._

Suddenly, the yearning inside Rick changed, its target shifted, and before Rick knew what he was doing, he started to paw at Daryl’s trousers, clumsily opening them on the second try. Daryl hissed and drew back, eyes wide and dark. With startling clarity, Rick realized that he _needed_ to feel him, _more of him._ He _had to_ feel Daryl hard and hot against him, Daryl’s leaking cock rubbing against his own skin, Daryl’s whole body quivering and shaking apart, just like Rick’s own was ready to do.

Cursing quietly, Daryl helped him draw his own length out, hands twitching when Rick gave him a few squeezes.  
“Wait, wait,” Daryl rasped out, shuffling on his feet, aligning them in a better way. “Like this, ‘kay? C’mon, Rick… like this…” he muttered, grabbing both of their cocks together, moving his hand over them. The strokes were fast and sure, tight enough that Rick’s eyes rolled back and the world went dim.

And then he was flying, his back arching, head thudding against the tree behind him. Daryl let out a heartfelt “fuck!”, and spilled between them, too, adding to the mess. His hand never stopped moving, milking them until they were too sensitive to go on. The hunter let his arm drop to the side wordlessly, pushing his face into Rick’s neck and just standing there, trying to remember how to breathe properly.

Once the white little spots stopped dancing in his vision, Rick straightened out, shivering when the movement caused their jackets to part and let in some cool air. Daryl grunted against him, shifting in his arms, before he pulled away slightly. Wincing at the cold, Rick tucked himself away, then zipped up his trousers and the jacket, watching Daryl do the same. They made a meek attempt at cleaning themselves up, before they decided that the mess was small enough to get lost among all the walker filth they were covered in already. Rick was half-expecting his friend to turn around and march back to the little house they had commandeered, but Daryl surprised him. Instead of moving away, he moved back close, stepping to Rick once again and hooking his arms behind Rick’s back.

A bit shocked, feeling suddenly inexplicably lighter, Rick returned the embrace, sighing when Daryl dropped his head to his shoulder.  
“Ya okay?” The hunter mumbled into his jacket, and Rick nodded.  
“Yeah… you?” He asked curiously, giving into the urge to run his fingers through Daryl’s hair. It was a bit longer now, covering his ears and making him look like a jungle cat - _a true predator._  
“Mhm,” Daryl hummed. His arms tightened briefly around Rick’s waist, before he peeled himself away and stepped back. “Should get back ‘fore we freeze ‘ere,” he muttered, grabbing his crossbow.

It was only now that Rick realized it hadn’t been strapped to Daryl’s back through their whole… _meeting._ Daryl must have placed it down in the snow, still within easy reach had the situation called for it. Something inside Rick warmed, coiling deep in his chest - a strange kind of fire which, Rick could swear, would be enough to keep him from freezing till the rest of the winter.

With a nod from Rick, they started to walk back, keeping as close as they comfortably could. The mutual promise of ‘ _if you need me, I’ll be there’_ was hanging between them, as noticeable as if it had been spoken aloud.

They were still hungry and homeless, fighting the dead to stay alive, but surprisingly, when Rick looked at the snow on his way back, he didn’t picture it rust-red with freshly spilled blood.


End file.
